


Kitchen Antics

by MyOwnWorstCritic



Category: CSI: NY
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-05-06
Updated: 2009-05-06
Packaged: 2019-08-21 05:32:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16570589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyOwnWorstCritic/pseuds/MyOwnWorstCritic
Summary: And if she wanted to lay with him all day on the hardwood kitchen floor, they would.Written for the January 1Hour2Write challenge.





	Kitchen Antics

Stella was standing behind Mac, trying to peer over his shoulder to see what he was cooking. He abruptly turned around and blocked her view of the stove top.

"Mac," she whined. She was hungry and she wanted to know what they were having.

"Yes Stel?"

"What are you making?" He smiled one of his patented Mac smiles, the cute ones she loved so much.

"You'll find out soon enough," he said cryptically. She pouted and crossed her arms over her chest. He couldn't resist and just laughed. She huffed indignantly.

"Plea-hease?"

"No." He placed his hands on her hips, pulling her closer to him and planting a deep kiss on her lips. She immediately got lost in it and wrapped her arms around his neck. She moaned, and he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss. He ran his hands along the sides of her body. The kiss was getting more heated.

And then the little dinger-thingy went off.

Stella reflexively jumped back. Then she realized what the timer going off meant and grinned.

"Are we eating now?" He nodded. When she saw him open the oven, her mouth dropped open in shock. "I thought you were cooking something!"

"It was a diversion," he said and smiled. She shook her head and opened the fridge door and took out a pitcher of water. She got two glasses and placed them on the table, while he put the hot pan on the table.

"Lasagna?" He nodded. Both sat down at the table and he put some lasagna on her plate and some on his and both dug into their food.

"Good?" he asked. She looked up, her green eyes sparkling.

"Yummy!" He laughed at her childish tone.

They ate in relative silence. At one point, Stella almost choked on her bite of food, because he was just going to fill their glasses with water, and then she took a bite and it was hot and she yelped, and he got worried and almost knocked the pitcher over, much to his worry and her amusement.

When they were done, she cleared the table and took the plates to the sink. He cornered her and she was about to turn to get the glasses, when she realized he was much closer than she thought. She gasped. He was inches from her, his arms trapping her between his body and the counter.

"What is it, Mac?" she asked in an amused tone and tried to push past him, but he wouldn't allow her to.

"I want dessert," he murmured close to her ear, and a shiver passed down her spine.

"Then you're in the wrong place. There's some ice cream in the freezer."

"I don't want that kind of dessert." His usually light blue eyes were now a midnight blue, and she knew this color all too well.

"Well, there's nothing else," she playfully replied, giving into his game.

"I know of something else." He could see the amusement and playfulness in her eyes.

"Well then show me!" she said huskily into his ear. So he did. He kissed her slowly and languidly, but the passion threatened to spill over.

She smirked into the kiss. Her hands ran down his front, down to the last button on his shirt. She slowly started to undo his shirt buttons, slowly, yet as fast as her fingers could manage. She was already dizzy with want for the man standing in front of her, who was kissing her into oblivion. When she was done with his shirt, she slipped it off his arms and had to take a moment to appreciate his perfect body. Even after all these years, he still looked good. She raked her nails down his chest, liking the way his muscles quivered under her touch.

He moved down and licked and nipped at the underside of her jaw. Her breath hitched in her throat and she temporarily forgot what she was going to do. In that moment, taking advantage of her temporary disability, he swiftly pulled her tank top over her head. He worked down to her clavicle and left a pretty, red mark there. His hand reached up and his thumb rolled over a nipple through her mint green lace bra. She moaned and let her head fall back. He smiled and switched to the other side of her neck.

She regained some composure and worked on his belt. They were both already barefoot.

He reached down and smiled. She was definitely having a harder time than him. She had button and belts to deal with, while he had no hindrance. He simply pulled the strings on her Capri pants and watched as the material slipped off her slender body, pooling at her feet. She was standing in front of him in mint green lingerie and he could barely keep his hands to himself; not that she was complaining, of course.

She had finally gotten the belt undone and pulled off his pants, smiling appreciatively at two things. Firstly, seeing the material pool at his feet, and secondly, seeing his arousal.

He reached behind her and flicked the clasp on her bra and the thing came off. She shrugged it off and flung it across the kitchen, not caring where it ended up. While his hands worked her breasts, she was letting out all sorts of little sounds that he was enjoying very much.

She pushed off from against the counter and kissed him, but they both lost balance and the pair tumbled to the ground. She landed on top of him, laughing, making him glare at her. She quickly sobered up and sat up, both legs on either side of him, straddling him.

He couldn't believe the woman on top of him. His heart swelled just looking at her. He never thought he'd feel that way about someone ever again, since Claire. But she had proven him wrong.

She saw his eyes glaze over and knew what he was thinking about. She stroked his face and leaned down to kiss him.

"I love you, Stella," he whispered.

"I love you too, Mac," she whispered back to him.

* * *

40 minutes later they were still on the kitchen floor.

They were both too lazy to take the initiative and get up. He was on his back, and she was half-sprawled over him. Her head was in the crook of his neck and both were basking in the feeling of afterglow.

"We should get up," he suggested, running his hand along her arm.

"Yup."

"Are we going to get up?"

"Nope," she said simply, making him smile.

And if she wanted to lay with him all day on the hardwood kitchen floor, they would.


End file.
